And I was doing so well last week, too. Getting stuff done (and staying up way too late doing it, and still not feeling the tiredness) was what I was all about last week. It felt great. The depression was nowhere in sight.
But all things pass in time, and now I can feel it. Coming back with a vengeance. The great black bird has returned to my shoulder and the painful grip of its talons seems unbreakable.
Last night was the worst I’ve had in months. It was pretty ironic, because I had seen my psychiatrist that very day, and we had discussed how it seemed I was doing much better, especially compared to when I had first started seeing him. And this is true: I was doing really well for a while there.
But that night irrational thoughts pervaded my mind, and I found myself drifting off into the dark nebula of depression without an anchor. Or at least, so I thought. Knowing I needed to ground myself, and quickly–because the thoughts of suicide were rising in my mind like a massive tide–I initiated a conversation with a friend of mine. He and I live miles away right now, so I messaged him. It occurs to me that I could have called him, but that’s how much of a burden I was feeling like–I didn’t want to drag him down into a conversation with me.
Even as I typed to him, half of me–okay, that’s a lie–most of me wanted to simply tell him goodbye. But the rest of me forced me to keep talking until the most gripping of the feelings passed.
I realize, of course, that the moment such powerful suicidal ideas returned to me I should have called either my psychologist or psychiatrist or any professional at all. But I didn’t. I also could have told my friend the truth when he asked me if everything was alright. But I didn’t. And for that, I’m disappointed in my self. I’m not the type to break a promise, but I broke my promise to my friends and family to call a professional when I felt this way again.
But this whole incident made me realize something. My friends are really the only reason I keep going. I only keep a handful of close friends, but they mean everything to me. And my family, too. And I even think about all the professionals who have expended so much time and energy on me. If I killed myself, I’d be letting them all down. So even if I don’t want to live for myself, I can find it in me to keep going for all of them.
For anyone who might read this post, please let me make this clear: I am no longer in this state of mind. Sure, I’m still very depressed, but the suicidal ideation was gone when I woke up this morning. So don’t be concerned.
As always, I think I’ll be okay.